


The Cry of an Eagle

by TheWaitingFangirl



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Crying, F/M, Fluff, God I only write angst like srsly, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaitingFangirl/pseuds/TheWaitingFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident happens, you start to think that you have messed up badly with the Order and caused the death of your mentor. After days of griefing, Altaïr can no longer stand your pain and comes to comfort you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cry of an Eagle

It was all your fault.

Stupid novice.

Had you gotten to the battlefield seconds sooner, your mentor — the man who had practically raised you — wouldn’t be dead.

You had been too slow.

The small room in the Masyaf fortress was filled with darkness and sorrow, the only source of light — a little candlelight at its end — provided a melancholic glow to your shrunken form, your arms hugging legs tightly against your chest in a form of self protection. The mat provided by the Order has never felt so uncomfortable, its hard surface never bothered you as much as it did now. Ahmad had been like a father to you and you let him die.

You felt like a novice in its early training months after failing a lesson.

But it wasn’t a lesson. Not anymore.

“Y/N.” Altaïr’s words caught your attention. “It was not your fault.” His words were soft, voice barely a whisper. You never heard him entering your room, hadn’t noticed his presence until now.

“I should’ve been there sooner.” You mumbled in a tired voice, feeling the tears stinging at your eyes once again. “He wouldn’t have been dead.”

“Ahmad lived long, Y/N. He died as he wished to, fighting. Sword in hand.” The assassin whispered, coming closer to you. “You know that.” Altaïr’s hand brushed the strands of hair from your face to look at your glassy eyes, crouching in front of you with his hood pushed back.

“I didn’t want him to.” You whimpered like a spoiled child, voice finally cracking into a cry that you had refused to let go during the day. Altaïr sighed, rough fingers touching the warm and now wet skin of your cheeks. “If I… I should've…”

“Say no more.” He said in a serious voice, although his eyes looked soft. You sucked a breath in, pressing your lips together to hold a sob back. “There are things that you can’t control, Y/N. Death and life is one of them, ok?”

You closed your eyes, shutting them tightly, pressing your face against his hand for comfort. Altaïr wasn’t a touchy guy, you knew that. He was doing it for you. “I just miss him, Altaïr.”

“I know.” He whispered with a surprisingly tired tone. “Come here.” The assassin sat beside you, his back against the still warm stone of the wall. “I’ll stay with you.” He half smiled at you, his right arm pulling your small body against his.

“You don’t have to, you know..” You replied sofly, though you snuggled against his side and closed your eyes. Altaïr smelled like mint, writing ink and a hint of different spices. He smelled like home for you and you simply nuzzled your head against his shoulder.

“But I want to.” You heard his voice rumble. The assassin gently held your hand with his, thumb caressing slow and lazy patterns on your knuckles. “Try to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”


End file.
